


love bites

by redwolves



Series: the sea seizes [2]
Category: GreedFall (Video Game)
Genre: Bottom Vasco, Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Established Relationship, Jealousy, M/M, Possessive Sex, Roughness, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-28 09:50:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20776583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redwolves/pseuds/redwolves
Summary: No one touches what is his.





	love bites

**Author's Note:**

> alternatively titled: vasco gets rawed

Having always been a man possessed of a singular focus on climbing the ranks within the Nauts, Vasco has never paid much mind to the idea of romance.

This includes any admirers that sometimes wander his way, though he has no qualms about disillusioning them with a simple and straightforward rejection. No need to make a fuss about it, even if some of them turn out to be a little more persistent than others.

As it turns out, his lover holds a different opinion.

It starts at the tavern--because of course it does--with Vasco leaning against the bar, holding his drink in his hand like a barrier between him and the rather obnoxious mercenary type trying to make a not-so-subtle pass at him.

“How far down do those tattoos go?”

It’s always the bloody tattoos.

Vasco throws back what little is left in his cup, slams it down onto the bar and motions at the innkeeper for a refill.

“I’ll pay for that,” the mercenary volunteers and Vasco’s lips curl into a sneer, though he admirably manages not to look at the uncommonly stubborn pest who is slowly inching closer, as if Vasco doesn’t notice it.

He can even see the man grinning from the corner of his eyes. “You don’t talk much, do you? That’s alright, I’m not in the mood for talking right now either.”

_‘Don’t start a barfight_,’ Vasco thinks, repeating it like a mantra in his head as he takes a deep breath and turns to face the clueless mercenary.

Which is apparently the exact wrong thing to do because the oaf takes it as an invitation to step closer, trapping Vasco with his back pressed to the edge of the wooden bar.

“How about you finish that drink and we’ll find a good corner to, ah…” The mercenary grins lasciviously. “Well, you know.”

“No, I don’t know. A corner for what?”

Someone stands behind the mercenary, voice loud enough to cut through their conversation even above the din of the tavern, distracting him long enough to give Vasco the perfect opportunity to push the mercenary off him.

With a single hand on the man’s face, he shoves, keeping his cup in hand and close to his chest as the mercenary staggers backwards, nearly tripping over a chair. He’ll be damned if he spills his drink over this nonsense.

“Hey!” the mercenary protests angrily, rubbing at his nose which Vasco nearly flattened with his palm. “What’s the big idea, huh? I was just—”

Tristan De Sardet, ever so reliable, steps between the mercenary and Vasco. His back is ramrod straight, shoulders broad and posture towering over the mercenary, making him seem taller than he really is. 

“Clearly you’ve had one too many bottles to drink,” Tristan speaks, his tone cold in a way Vasco has never heard before. “If you’d rather not get your head cracked open with one, I suggest you leave.”

Vasco arches his brows in surprise at his lover’s violent threat; this isn’t Tristan’s usual style. In fact, Vasco can’t remember a single instance of him using intimidation to get his way in the past. Did the mercenary catch him in a bad mood, or did something in particular set him off?

The mercenary scowls, glancing from Tristan to Vasco standing behind him before he spits on the floor and scampers off, disappearing through the crowd.

Tristan’s shoulders ease slightly with a soft exhale of breath, but when he turns around to face Vasco his expression is far from relaxed. He’s frowning deeply as his eyes roam over Vasco’s body, as if to make sure he wasn’t harmed, which—Vasco snorts—is mildly insulting.

“I had that handled,” Vasco says, taking a last swig of his drink before setting it aside on the bar. “But thank you all the same.”

“Handled?” Tristan repeats sharply. “He had you cornered.”

“I would’ve laid him out if you hadn’t interfered.” Vasco leans sideways against the wooden counter, though from the dark look in Tristan’s eyes he can infer his casual demeanor isn’t exactly appreciated. “What are you still glaring for? The issue was taken care of, was it not?”

“That’s not the point,” Tristan replies irritably, taking a step and closing most of the distance between them, near enough for a more intimate conversation.

Vasco can see the innkeeper giving them looks from the corner of his eyes. “Then what has you so upset?”

“He put his hands on you.”

Tristan looks entirely serious as he says this, prompting a disbelieving laugh from Vasco, accompanied by a shake of his head.

“Contrary to what you may think,” Vasco says slowly, a challenging look levelled at his lover, “you don’t actually _own _me, De Sardet.”

Tristan’s brow twitches at the pointed use of his last name, and then his hand reaches up. Vasco thinks he might cup his cheek, but that would be too gentle a gesture for the mood that seems to have overtaken Tristan, his gaze darkened to something Vasco has never seen on his face before.

No, instead of a tender caress Tristan’s palm curves around the side of Vasco’s neck while Vasco does his best not to move, intrigued by this different side of Tristan.

He has never seen Tristan behave like this so openly before, though he’s caught glimpses in the past. Subtle looks, flitting by on Tristan’s face whenever someone he didn’t know would get too close to Vasco or touch him too liberally, though that did not happen often and as such Vasco never paid it much mind.

This, however, is very different—especially considering it’s been a very long time since anyone had the nerve to get so handsy with Vasco.

“You’re right, I don’t own you,” Tristan agrees, speaks it softly as his eyes flit down to Vasco’s mouth. “I should change that.”

Vasco’s breath hitches as Tristan’s grip tightens around his neck, until Tristan’s thumb is putting the slightest pressure on his airways as he leans in, hot breath brushing over Vasco’s lips.

“I should make you mine,” Tristan growls, a single promise so arousing that Vasco goes slightly lightheaded from how hard he gets, but it’s not in him to give in so easily.

He grabs Tristan’s wrist and pulls his fingers off his neck, and while Tristan doesn’t resist he lets out a frustrated breath, brown eyes deepened close to black, gleaming hungrily in the dim lights of the tavern. 

Still holding Tristan’s wrist in his hand, Vasco leans in, lips brushing the edge of Tristan’s ear.

“Then come get me,” he hisses, then drops Tristan’s wrist and pulls away from him entirely, leaving the bar behind and weaving through the people in his way toward the stairs.

His pulse flutters with his anticipation. He knows Tristan is following him, hears his footsteps on the stairs right behind him, doesn’t need to look back to know Tristan is watching him. The weight of his gaze is a lit fuse, burning quicker as they reach the second floor and all Vasco can do is keep his composure, trying to appear unaware and unaffected even while his blood runs hot beneath his clothes.

The hallway before them is thankfully deserted, most who are staying at the inn either inside their rooms or downstairs. Vasco paces across the floorboards, walks faster and hears the footsteps behind him speed up as well, just a small distance between them and Vasco doesn’t know where he’s going or what he’s even looking for.

Only that he has a predator on his heels.

A door left open on a slight gap catches his attention and he can just about make out shelves inside, appearing to be a small storage room of sorts. If he wanted a dark corner, that would be the one.

Then again, his aim isn’t to simply give Tristan what he wants but to make him work for it, so Vasco steps past the opened door, intending to ignore it entirely—

An arm comes up from behind him, wrapping around his waist to haul him backwards and he hears the creak of the door being yanked open before Tristan, fingers curled into Vasco’s coat, shoves him through the threshold and slams the door shut behind them, leaving them both breathing hard in the darkness.

Vasco can’t make out Tristan’s face but he’s gripping Vasco’s coat tightly, holding him close enough for their breaths to mingle. He wonders if Tristan can hear how loudly his heart is beating in the silence, because it sounds like a drum pounding inside his head.

“Tris—”

A mouth crushes against his own, hands on his chest backing him up until his lower back hits what feels like the edge of a desk, a noise of surprise in his throat that Tristan swallows in his own as he takes what he wants, kissing Vasco like he’s starved for his lips.

Vasco clings to him, a hand gripped tightly in his black curls and when he _pulls _Tristan groans into his mouth, biting at his lower lip and pressing up against him. At some point Vasco’s hat falls off his head and his coat is all but torn off him, discarded carelessly to the floor before a leg pushes its way between Vasco’s.

Tristan rubs up against the erection swollen in Vasco’s trousers, and Vasco has to break their kiss to exhale a shaky moan, grinding back with need. They’ve made love many times and they’ve fucked many times, but this is something else, something burning white-hot behind his eyelids as he squeezes them shut when Tristan’s teeth drag over his neck and he whispers, “_Mine_.”

Vasco rocks his hips into Tristan’s, the pressure and the friction so good against his hardened cock but not nearly enough to sate him, so he reaches for Tristan’s belt, wants to take it all off, but Tristan has other ideas.

The moment Vasco pulls on his belt Tristan moves back and grabs Vasco roughly by the arm, spinning him around and shoving him forward, bending him over the desk.

“_Shit_—”

Tristan’s hand clamps around his mouth to smother his cursing, chest pressed against Vasco’s back but he doesn’t move, simply holds Vasco still.

A moment later Vasco realizes why; there are voices coming from right outside the storage room.

“…suddenly comes out of nowhere and tells me to back off!”

It’s a familiar one, belonging to the mercenary that was bothering Vasco before.

Vasco shifts a little, intending to get back up, but Tristan’s hand keeps around his mouth as he firmly presses Vasco down onto the desk again with another hand on his back. Vasco’s own hands are not restrained and he could break out of Tristan’s hold if he wanted to, but he doesn’t. He wants to see what Tristan has planned.

“Huh.” One of the mercenary’s companions, no doubt. “So, you tucked your tail between your legs and ran, eh?”

The ensuing laughter drowns out irate protests, and then Tristan’s hand, the one used to push him down now circles around Vasco’s waist to his trousers, popping the button open with a nimble motion of his fingers.

Vasco’s eyes widen in realization. He couldn’t possibly—

Tristan presses his lips against Vasco’s neck, mouthing at the skin as he pulls Vasco’s trousers and his undergarments down, past his knees.

Oh, he’s _serious_.

“I don’t know who he was,” the mercenary grumbles in response to something that was said; Vasco can’t exactly bring himself to focus on the conversation when Tristan’s hand grabs at his bare thigh, parting his legs wider. “He had kind of a familiar face. Looked rich, too. Probably some pampered merchant’s boy.”

Vasco leans his elbows down onto the desk, breathing hard through his nose as he listens to the sound of Tristan’s belt being undone.

“And you let that pampered merchant’s boy chase you off?”

Tristan’s weight shifts off of him for a moment and as Vasco listens to him spit into his palm he finds himself relieved that they fucked earlier that morning. It’s still going to be hard to take, but he doesn’t mind.

He wants it rough. 

“The sailor wasn’t interested!” the mercenary thunders as his companions continue to snicker at his expense. “What was I supposed to do, drag him off by the hair?”

With his chest pressing down against Vasco’s back Tristan lines up behind him, pinning him down against the desk while Vasco’s hands reach for the edges, grabbing onto the wood to have something to hold onto.

_“_I would’ve convinced him,” the mercenary declares, boasting. “You didn’t see the way he was staring at me, he definitely wanted a piece of this!”

Tristan smiles against Vasco’s neck, then pushes into him.

“_Mmh_—!” Vasco is at once grateful for the hand covering his mouth, nails digging into the wood as Tristan fills him up to the hilt, breath caught in Vasco’s throat as Tristan’s hips press up against his ass, settling inside him with a deep groan stifled against Vasco’s skin.

“You really reckon you could’ve fucked a Naut?” one of the other men mocks the mercenary. “With that ugly mug of yours?” 

The drag of Tristan’s cock as he pulls out leaves Vasco breathless, and he arches his back to push his hips up for Tristan, earning him an approving kiss on his temple.

“Shut up, you!” the mercenary shouts. “If it wasn’t for that snotty little merchant I’d have him in my room right now, screaming my name—”

Tristan _thrusts _and Vasco chokes on his moan, clinging mindlessly to the desk that shakes beneath them from the force of it. The pace is relentless; Tristan drives into him like he’s never wanted anything more, an arm wrapping around Vasco’s chest to hold him still as Tristan fucks into him, claiming him, _owning _him just like he promised.

The conversation happening outside falls away. Vasco can think of nothing but Tristan, can feel nothing but Tristan’s cock inside of him, can hear nothing but Tristan’s groans into his ear, moaning wantonly into Tristan’s palm, whimpering against it as Tristan takes him and takes him and_ takes_ him until he’s seeing stars.

The heat is unbearable. He can hardly breathe, feels like he’s suffocating with Tristan’s hand keeping his lips shut, an almost dizzy feeling and he thinks he shouldn’t love it as much as he does, but he does.

He loves the way Tristan holds him down, makes Vasco his, marks it into him with his teeth, only slows down to push in deeper and make Vasco’s toes curl before he picks up the pace again, goes faster just to hear Vasco sob against his hand, and god, there really must be something wrong with him but he doesn’t care anymore. He just wants _more_.

“No one,” Tristan hisses, nosing against Vasco’s jawline. “_No one_ but _me_.”

_Yours_, Vasco thinks feverishly, grabbing desperately at Tristan’s wrist as Tristan fucks him even harder, thrusts growing wilder, an animal growl against his skin that sets his blood aflame and Vasco has never wanted so badly for Tristan to come inside of him. _Yours, yours, I’m yours_—

Vasco’s name is gasped into his ear and then Tristan comes, holding him tight and Vasco could want for nothing else in this moment as Tristan fills him up, rocking his hips with a shudder one last time, and then he’s motionless.

Tristan’s weight is warm on top of him, almost anchoring as Vasco stays in his embrace and listens to his heavy breaths. After a short while Tristan shifts a little, gently kissing Vasco’s cheek as if in apology, then he reaches around and grabs hold of Vasco’s cock.

His tight and quick strokes rip a broken noise from Vasco’s throat, making him come with Tristan still inside of him, the sheer relief of it burning everything else away.

Lost for a while, drifting on a calm and quiet tide, and he feels utterly fulfilled.

When the world finally returns to him it’s dark and quiet, the din from the tavern downstairs a distance noise fading away into the background.

Tristan is gentle with him in the aftermath, pulling out with care and helping him upright again, even managing to find some clean cloth to wipe the mess off with. Vasco lets him, too fucked out to even pretend he could take care of it himself as he stands on unsteady legs, knowing he’ll be sore in the morning but thinking that at least for now, it’s been worth it.

“Think anyone heard us?” Tristan wonders out loud as he picks Vasco’s coat off the ground, offering it to him.

“I don’t think so, no,” Vasco replies, taking the coat from him to shrug it back on.

Tristan hums.

“Shame.”


End file.
